Lots of Provincial Ladies

Be prepared for me to be pretty flexible in my Reading Presently project, folks.  I mostly won't be including re-reads, but I will be more inclined to if I'm reading the gift for the first time - i.e. first time in that particular edition, but not first time overall.  And, in the first days of the new year, I re-read E.M. Delafield's The Diary of a Provincial Lady for the umpteenth time, and loved it just as much as ever.  I'm amazed by how consistently wonderfully Delafield writes it, with almost every line making me smile or laugh.  Just flicking through a copy, here is an example, because I feel she should get to say something in this post:

Write letters.  Much interrupted by Helen Wills [the cat], wanting to be let out, kitten, wanting to be let in, and dear Robin, who climbs all over the furniture, apparently unconscious that he is doing so, and tells me at the same time, loudly and in full, the story of The Swiss Family Robinson.

As I say, I've read it many times - this is probably the eighth or ninth time in ten years - but this is the first time I've read the particular edition given to me by (drum roll, if you will)... Thomas at My Porch!  Yes, that adorable man knew that I had something of a collection of Provincial Lady editions, and sent me this beauty:

Isn't it fab?  I was so grateful, especially since it's an edition I've never seen on my bookshop travels in the UK.

Whilst we're here, I thought you might fancy a little tour around my other editions, no?  If nothing else, it'll make you feel better about your own book buying compulsions.  You'll feel a model of restraint and good sense, by comparison.

This is the first ever edition that I bought, having read The Provincial Lady Goes Further from the local library (large print edition - the only E.M. Delafield book they held).  This is the edition I've read most often - in fact, it's always on my bedside table - and the spine has fallen off.  It's all four Provincial Lady books in one, with an introduction by Kate O'Brien.  It would have originally had a lovely dustjacket - like the one pictured in Christine's post here - but mine came, instead, with a cup mark.

Over the years, I've bought up cheap editions of the various books in the series, when I've stumbled across them.  That accounts for this little pile - two copies of The Provincial Lady Goes Further, and one of The Diary of a Provincial Lady - which, interestingly, has a bunch of pages duplicated in the middle, and thus must be worth.... um, nothing.

One of the reasons I buy these, other than because they're simply lovely, is for the fantastic Arthur Watt illustrations:

And then, of course, I have the Virago Modern Classics edition, with Nicola Beauman's introduction.  I couldn't not have that, could I?  But... I suppose I didn't medically need to get this two separate editions of this omnibus, simply for the different covers... (second photo not mine, pinched from Christine's site - because I forgot to take a photo of it, and it's in Somerset.)

And, finally, when shopping in one of my favourite bookshops - Malvern Bookshop in Malvern, Worcestershire - I came across the Folio edition of the first book.  I don't think the illustrator really interprets the book in the way I would, but Folio books are so beautifully produced that I couldn't leave this one on the shelf now, could I?  No.  No, of course I could not.

Ok, dear reader, I know what you're thinking... I don't have the Cath Kidston edition which Virago published a year or two ago!  And you're right, of course.  I imagine one day, when I find it cheaply, I'll add it to my collection.  'Collection' sounds better than hoard, doesn't it?

Well, my name is Simon, and I am addicted to editions of the Provincial Lady.  Thomas is my enabler.  I'm well aware that I couldn't stop any time I wanted to.  I'm not even trying to go clean.   Don't LOOK at me, I'm SO ASHAMED.

(I'm not.  Not at all.)

Books I Borrowed...

There are a few books I've borrowed from friends and libraries which have now been returned, and so I'm going to give each one a paragraph or two, instead of a proper review.  Partly so I can include them on my Century of Books list, but partly because it's fun to do things differently sometimes.  Of course, it's entirely possible that I'll get carried away, and write far too much... well, here are the four books, in date order.  Apologies for the accidental misquotation in the sketch today... I only noticed afterwards!

Canon in Residence - V.L. Whitechurch (1904)
This was surprisingly brilliant. Rev. John Smith on a continental holiday encounters a stranger who tells him that he'd see more of human life if he adopted layman's clothes.  Smith thinks the advice somewhat silly, but has no choice - as, during the night, the stranger swaps their outfits.  Smith goes through the rest of his holiday in somewhat garish clothing, meeting one of those ebullient, witty girls with which Edwardian novels abound.  A letter arrives telling him that he has been made canon of a cathedral town - where this girl also lives (of course!)  He makes good his escape, and hopes she won't recognise him...

Once in his position as canon, Smith's new outlook on life leads to a somewhat socialist theology - improving housing for the poor, and other similar principles which are definitely Biblical, but not approved of by the gossiping, snobbish inhabitants of the Cathedral Close.  As a Christian and the son of a vicar, I found this novel fascinating (you can tell that Whitechurch was himself a vicar) but I don't think one would need to have faith to love this.  It's very funny as well as sensitive and thoughtful; John Smith is a very endearing hero.  It all felt very relevant for 2012.  And there's even a bit of a criminal court case towards the end.

Three Marriages - E.M. Delafield (1939)
Delafield collects together three novellas, each telling the tale of a courtship and marriage, showing how things change across years: they are set in 1857, 1897, and 1937.  Each deals with people who fall in love too late, once they (or their loved one) has already got married to somebody else.  The surrounding issues are all pertinent to their respective periods.  In 1897, and 'Girl-of-the-Period', Violet Cumberledge believes herself to be a New Woman who is entirely above anything so sentimental as emotional attachments - and, of course, realises too late that she is wrnog.  In 1937 ('We Meant To Be Happy') Cathleen Christmas marries the first man who asks, because she fears becoming one of so many 'surplus women' - only later she falls in love with the doctor.  But the most interesting story is the first - 'The Marriage of Rose Barlow'.  It's rather brilliant, and completely unexpected from the pen of Delafield.  Rose Barlow is very young when she is betrothed to her much older cousin - the opening line of the novel is, to paraphrase without a copy to hand, 'The night before her wedding, Rose Barlow put her dolls to bed as she always had done.'  Once married, they go off to India together.   If you know a lot more about the history of India than I do, then the date 1857 might have alerted you to the main event of the novella - the Sepoy Rebellion.  A fairly calm tale of unequal marriage becomes a very dramatic, even gory, narrative about trying to escape a massacre.  A million miles from what I'd expect from Delafield - but incredibly well written and compelling.

Miss Plum and Miss Penny - Dorothy Evelyn Smith (1959)
Miss Penny, a genteel spinster living with her cook/companion Ada, encounters Miss Plum in the act of (supposedly) attempting suicide in a duckpond.  Miss Penny 'rescues' Miss Plum and invites her into her home. (Pronouns are tricky; I assume you can work out what I mean.)  It looks rather as though Miss Plum might have her own devious motives for these actions... but I found the characters very inconsistent, and the plot rather scattergun.  There are three men circling these women, whose intentions and affections vary a fair bit; there are some terribly cringe-worthy, unrealistic scenes of a vicar trying to get closer to his teenage son. It was a fun read, and not badly written, but Dorothy Evelyn Smith doesn't seem to have put much effort into organising narrative arcs or creating any sort of continuity.  But diverting enough, and certainly worth an uncritical read.

The Shooting Party - Isabel Colegate (1980)
Oh dear.  Like a lot of people, I suspect, I rushed out to borrow a copy of The Shooting Party after reading Rachel's incredibly enthusiastic review.  Go and check it out for details of the premise and plot.  I shall just say that, sadly, I found it rather ho-hum... perhaps even a little boring.  The characters all seemed too similar to me, and I didn't much care what happened.  Even though it's a short novel, it dragged for me, and the climax was, erm, anti-climactic.  Perhaps my expectations were too high, or perhaps my tolerance for historical novels (albeit looking back only sixty or seventy years) is too low.  Sorry, Rachel!

Zella Sees Herself - E.M. Delafield

This is one of those posts where I'm going to tell you about a book which is impossible to find... so, should this make you desperate to read it, head to your local academic library!  The book in question is Zella Sees Herself (1917) by E.M. Delafield, her first novel (written when she was my age, actually), kindly lent to me by EMD-enthusiast Marie.  Since it can't be bought for love nor money, I'll keep my post pretty brief...  Oh, and this is the first 1910s book I've read for A Century of Books.

Zella Sees Herself follows Zella de Kervoyou from childhood to early adulthood.  It is what would now be called a coming-of-age novel, yet she comes of age so gradually, and through such shifting stages of maturity, that the term probably doesn't quite fit.  Her first cause for change comes in the first pages, as her mother dies and she is shipped off to live with relatives.  Indeed, she relocates a few times - my favourite of the various relatives she encounters is Aunt Marianne, one of those incredibly un-self-aware women who prefix tired truisms with "As I always say ---" and imagines that everybody has said precisely what she wishes them to say, so she can disregard what they actually think.  (When I say favourite I do, of course, mean favourite to read - not favourite to love.)

We follow Zella through her time at a convent, where she eventually decides to become a nun - and her speedy renunciation of this desire upon leaving the convent.  There is a quick dalliance with society, and finally the need to decide whether or not to accept the first man who proposes to her, unsure of her own feelings.

I've whipped through the plot because it is all fairly standard stuff, both for the period and for Delafield herself.  Apparently it was partly autobiographical.  First novels are always fascinating to read, especially when the first was not the best.  Some authors (Edith Olivier, David Garnett) never live up to their first effort; others go on to much greater feats.  Delafield is in the latter camp, which makes it all the more interesting to spot areas in which she would later develop.  There are plenty of hallmarks of Delafield's later novels - both in theme and style.  Covents crop up a lot in her work, as does the uncertain hunt for a husband.  Aunt Marianne even quotes the title to one of Delafield's later novels:

Aunt Marianne vanished, but reappeared next moment at the door in order to add, in a slightly Scriptural tone which she would not have employed had she been aware that she was quoting no more sacred authority than the poet Shakespeare:

"Remember, Zella, that one is expressly told to go down upon one's knees and thank Heaven fasting for a good man's love."

Ten points if you spotted it, and another ten if you can name the Shakespeare play from which it derives.

More importantly than these sorts of things, there are elements of Delafield's style which are beginning to bud.  You can already see plenty of signs of her dryness, irony, and the pleasure she gets in sending up those who have no self-awareness.  As the title wryly suggests, Zella cannot, in fact, see herself.  It's a theme which is repeated throughout Delafield's work, used both comically and tragically.  In Zella Sees Herself there is both.  Aunt Marianne is one amongst many who is self-deluded.  Another is Alison St. Craye, a few years older than Zella and a would-be intellectual.  In her case, Delafield uses self-delusion for comedy.  Here's an example I noted more or less at random:

The debate proved tedious.

A nervous-looking girl in black was voted into the chair, and made a preliminary speech which began and ended with a stammering sentence to the effect that everyone must agree, whatever their individual view of the matter, that the subject of Reincarnation was a very interesting one.

"Hear! hear!"

Alison's speech was a lengthy one.  Her delivery was slow and over-emphatic; she spoke kindly of Christianity and its doctrines.

Most of the speakers had some personal example, that bore more or less upon the subject, to relate.  One or two adduced strange phenomena experienced by themselves, and a young married woman recounted at some length vivid recollections of ancient Carthage that obsessed her.

Alison shook her head slowly from side to side, with contemptuous disapproval, or nodded it slowly up and down with contemptuous approval.  Lady St. Craye looked interested, and gently clapped each speaker.

Zella thought that she could have made a far more striking and original speech than any of them, but knew herself well enough to be aware that, if she were suddenly called upon to speak, her self-confidence would leave her, and leave her helpless.

For Zella, a lack of self-awareness - and, still more, the pain of dawning self-awareness - is more tragic than comic.  Delafield herself was still young (twenty-six - as I said, my age) and had yet entirely to shake off the earnestness of the youthful author.  Perhaps she never entirely lost it, nor is there any real reason why she should, but I prefer her in poking-fun mode than in exclamatory mode.

For a first novel, this is exceptionally good.  I don't believe E.M. Delafield was capable of writing a bad novel.  In comparison to later efforts, it clearly falls a bit short - but is incredibly interesting in terms of putting another piece in the jigsaw of EMD's writing career, and I'm delighted that Marie gave me the chance to read it.


One other person got Stuck into this Book!

"Some of the characters verge on caricature; there is much more subtlely in Delafield's later characterisation, which relies less on extreme contrast between characters" - Tanya, 20th Century Vox